A Permanent Sleep
by Wounded Shell Of Myself
Summary: Based on Cancer by My Chemical Romance. Centers around Stan, who has been stricken with cancer, his final thoughts on his life and his last visit with Kyle before his time comes.


_DISCLAIMER: South Park belongs to Comedy Central, Matt Stone, and Trey Parker; "Cancer" belongs to My Chemical Romance._

**A Permanent Sleep**

_Six months to live._ That's what the doctor told me about, well, six months ago. I will be gone any day now. I'm now just a seventeen-year-old ghost of who I used to be: a young, happy kid with loving parents, plenty of friends, and a wonderful girlfriend. God, that was so long ago...I think I was like, nine or ten when I had that. I remember kissing those days goodbye when I entered the fifth grade, when all the kids began to divide into social groups and permanently decide who was cool and who was not. Somehow Kyle and I ended up in the "uncool" crowd, and yes, we did hate it at first but we soon learned that we did not want to fit in with those rejecting us. We were tortured on a daily basis once we entered middle school; Kyle learned to deal with it but I didn't do so well, since I was a lot more sensitive than he. The bullying was also not a good combination with the fact that my home life was not going well, either. Shelley was still treating me like shit and then my parents and I just stopped getting along—they just got a lot fussier and a lot more strict as I grew older. I did spend my teen years pretty depressed, just over different things through the years, so my teen years were not fun.

But, they were just normal teenager problems that eventually died down and turned into adult problems. Well, at least they would have if adulthood was in my future. Now, my life was simply lying in my bed, weak and fragile, just waiting for death. When I was fifteen, I was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma, which is cancer in the lymph nodes. For two years, we've tried everything—radiotherapy, chemotherapy, transplants, everything you could think of—but the cancer just wouldn't let up. So now I'm here in bed (since I am a chronic I had the choice to either stay in the hospital or die at home), barely able to move, with my skin pale and scratched up and my hair thin and brittle. At five-foot-six, I weigh 105 pounds. Death is right around the corner.

I let out a weak sigh as I continue to lie in my bed. My nurse just came by to check on me and give me a shot of chemo, so I feel really cruddy. Just then, Kyle walks in, as he has done everyday since I first went into treatment. Kenny and some of the goth kids visit me whenever they get the chance, but Kyle is the only one who comes everyday. He gives me a sad smile as he sits on the edge of my bed.

"How ya hanging up?" he asks, forcing some cheer into his voice. I take the deepest breath I can possibly take, which is still very weak.

"I'm extremely thirsty," I say. My throat and my lips are so dry, I might die of thirst before the cancer gets me.

"Hold on, I'll get you some water," says Kyle, getting up and walking out of the room. He returns a minute later, with a glass of ice water in his hand. He hands it to me and I weakly take a sip.

"I'm sitting up here literally dying, and the only person my parents leave to watch over me is Shelley," I say dryly, with a hint of anger in my voice.

"Dude, I know," says Kyle sympathetically. "You'd think they'd have caught on after all these years."

"I mean, last time I asked Shelley for something, she just yelled at me for interrupting her phone call." Kyle shakes his head as I take another sip. I gently set the glass on my night stand and looked back up at Kyle.

"Well Henrietta said today she'll probably come see you within the next couple of days," says Kyle, breaking the silence.

"Cool," I say simply.

"Are you OK, Stan?" Kyle asks me with concern in his voice.

"I'm fine," I reply. "I'm just really tired."

"You look sad."

I sigh as he continues to stare at me. There's no hiding from him. "It's just...I look horrible." Kyle doesn't say anything, he's still staring. "My hair is almost completely gone, and it's a miracle that I have any left at this point. I'm as thin as a skeleton. My skin gets so itchy, and now I've scratched it raw."

"But that's the cancer," replies Kyle.

"I know," I say, almost interrupting him, "but I look dead. Plus, I've been depressed for six years. I don't want anyone to remember me this way."

Kyle takes a deep breath and purses his lips. I can tell he's thinking. "Dude," he begins, "for the rest of my life, whenever I think of you—sure, sometimes I'll remember the way you look now, but most of the time, I'm going to remember a different Stan. The Stan I grew up with. The Stan I did everything with."

"I know," I say with a defeated tone, "but still...I don't want to be remembered as the depressed kid who eventually died from cancer."

"Dude, you won't," says Kyle. "I promise."

"I just wish my life had been better," I tell him, with regret in my voice. "Sure, it started out great, but if I had known what little time I had, maybe I would have tried to enjoy it more, instead of being depressed all the time."

"Stan, don't beat yourself up. Things happened, and you dealt with them the best way you knew how. Instead of living with regret you should enjoy what little time you have left."

"I know," is all I can say. "It's just...I'll never get to do the good things in life. Graduate, go to college, get married."

"Well, no," begins Kyle, "but instead of dwelling over what you didn't and will never do, just think of the things you did do."

"Like what?"

"Well, you survived middle school," he says with a small chuckle. I twitch my lip a little bit and continue to stare at him. "Really, Stan, don't be so glum about this. I mean, yes, it sucks, but these are the cards you were dealt and there's really nothing anyone can do about it."

"I'm sorry, Kyle," I say. "I just got my chemo before you came, that makes me worn out and moody."

"It's OK, dude, I know you can't help it."

"And I just hate the thought of leaving everybody. I don't want to leave anybody behind."

"I know, Stan. I know," says Kyle. "But shit happens."

"I know," I say sadly.

"But you'll still be in our hearts," he adds. "I know that sounds cliché as hell, but it is the truth."

I sigh. "It sounds like you're saying goodbye, it makes me feel bad."

"Oops, I'm sorry."

"It's OK, dude." I force a smile to my face. Kyle grins back, then looks at his watch.

"Uggh, I gotta go pick Ike up from school," he says with a hint of annoyance on his face. "Well I'll see ya later," he continues has he leans down and gives me a quick hug.

"Later," I say weakly as I return the hug.

"Hang in there," he says as he heads for the door.

"Kyle," I say. He turns around and looks back at me. "Thanks," is all I can say. It's all that needs to be said.

"No problem, dude," he replies. "Take care."

"Bye," I say as he smiles and walks out the door. I sigh and close my eyes, then open them back up. I feel like shit. I wonder what it'll feel like when I actually go. I hope it's quick and painless, because this cancer has been slow and painful and I'm ready for it to end. I've been counting down since the day the doctor said "Six months to live." I don't want to die, but right now, I'd do anything to get rid of the pain. I feel so weak and tired, and my skin gets so itchy...my only relief is when I sleep, and even then, I often wake up, drenched in sweat and itchy as hell. A permanent sleep is my only escape.

I wonder what will happen after I'm gone. What will Mom do with my things? How sad will everyone be? Will I be missed? I wonder what I'll be buried in. God, I hope Mom doesn't put me in some normal, lame tuxedo. I want to be buried in my favorite black suit with the black shirt and red tie. It just looks really gothic and cool, and it's not at all formal. I know it sounds silly that I'm lying here on my deathbed thinking about what I want to be buried in, but I want to go down wearing clothes that fit my personality.

I just wish life had been better, that it wasn't going to end this way. But Kyle is right, I was dealt these cards and there's nothing I can do about it. I know I should focus on the happy things I did, but they were so long ago that they are very vague in my memory. I wish I wasn't so pessimistic, but it's just the way I am. Having a good childhood and then having it ripped away from you is very hard on the soul; I don't even remember the last time I truly was happy. Yes, I've had my good times, but they're so few and far between that I barely remember them.

I really feel like shit now. It feels like my heart is thumping faster than usual; I should stop thinking about all this stuff, I guess it's putting stress on my body. I try to take a breath, but it's extremely hard. I get an itch on my arm and begin to scratch it, but my hand is too weak to do so. Why am I shaking so violently? All of the sudden, my heart beats faster and faster. Oh shit. This is scaring me.

"SHELLY!" I yell as loudly as I can, but I don't think she heard me. I hear no footsteps or anything. My heart beats even faster and my head really hurts right now. Oh shit. I think it's happening. Geez, I wish someone was here right now...Kyle, or Henrietta, or just anyone. My heart finally starts to slow down, and my breathing gets more and more shallow. God, if this it, I don't wanna die alone. _Come on, please, somebody come up. Please. Please Kyle, please be done picking up Ike and come to see me. Henrietta, please be on your way, I need to tell you how I feel..._

My heart rate just beats slower and slower, until all of the sudden, the pain goes away. I feel this bliss, this peace I haven't felt in a long time. The chemo does make me tired, I guess I needed a nap. Hopefully Kyle or Henrietta will be here when I wake up. I remain in this "walking on air" feeling for about an hour, until I have this really weird dream. I'm above my room, looking over myself in the bed. Am I having an out of body experience? I hear some footsteps, and to my surprise, Henrietta walks in. Is she really here?

I start pinching myself to try to wake up, I need to tell Henrietta how I feel before I go. I pinch and pinch until my whole arm hurts. I look down over me. Henrietta is shaking my body, calling for me to wake up.

"Stan! Dude, wake up!" she calls. She continues to shake me as a look of worry spreads over her face. I start pinching harder and harder.

"I'm trying!" I call out, but she doesn't hear me. She puts her ear to my heart and places her thumb on my wrist. She just has this look of shock on her face; she looks like her whole life has just stopped and she's frozen in time.

Just then, my mother walks in the room. "Henrietta, what's wrong?" she asks. Henrietta can't speak; she just notions towards my body as my mom walks over. She taps my shoulder and calls my name, but I don't wake up. I reach down and pinch the hell out of my arm—the hardest I've ever pinched anyone or anything. Why won't I wake up?

Then it hits me. This is no dream. I see EMTs rush into my room, followed my mom, my nurse, and Shelley. Henrietta gets out of the way and just puts her hand to her temple. She still has this frozen, worried look on her face and her eyes are glued to my body. I can tell she's hurting inside, and I just want to hold her and make it all go away...but I can't.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Marsh," says one of the EMTs. "We couldn't save your son." I expect my mom to start crying, but she doesn't. She just stands there, with an emotionless look on her face. _Come on, Mom, don't you miss me? I know I was hard to handle the past few years, but I didn't try to be such a pain. Mom? Why aren't you crying?_ I then look over at Shelley, who has an evil grin on her face. But I'm not surprised—her heart has always been this cold. What will Dad say when he finds out? I look down as the EMTs wrap me up in a body bag and take me away. Henrietta is the only one who looks sad. Shelley is happy and Mom doesn't care. It's bad enough to die alone, but it's worse when your own mother doesn't care that you're gone. I watch as everyone walks out of my room. _Mom, aren't you going to cry? Or at least look sad? _Oh well. I'm going to find Sparky.

* * *

_Turn away,_

_If you could get me a drink _

_Of water 'cause my lips are chapped and faded _

_Call my Aunt Marie_

_Help her gather all my things_

_And bury me in all my favorite colors, _

_My sisters and my brothers, still, _

_I will not kiss you, _

_'Cause the hardest part of this is leaving you. _

_Now turn away, _

_'Cause I'm awful just to see _

_'Cause all my hairs abandoned all my body, _

_Oh, my agony, _

_Know that I will never marry, _

_Baby, I'm just soggy from the chemo_

_But counting down the days to go_

_It just ain't living_

_And I just hope you know_

_That if you say (if you say)_

_Goodbye today (goodbye today)_

_I'd ask you to be true (cause I'd ask you to be true)_

_'Cause the hardest part of this is leaving you_

_'Cause the hardest part of this is leaving you_


End file.
